Gunpowder & Peonies

Hard Softball

It was a big game, the last one of the season. Two undefeated teams seeking victory that would bring with it a championship. Hawthorne Elementary versus our archenemy, Horace Mann Elementary. We had finished second to them in basketball and also the big city-wide relay team competition. But now we had them on the ropes.

It was our last at-bat that early-summer afternoon, trailing by one run, runners on first and second bases, and no outs. I already had two hits, and I was itching for one more to drive in both runners and win the game, and the championship. Glory would then pour over my head like sacred oil.

Coach Cook had prepared us for this moment. We were fundamentally sound on defense, where I was the first baseman. Once, in an early practice, I had leisurely attempted to snare a foul ball one-handed like my favorite first baseman, the flashy Vic Power of the Cleveland Indians. And muffed it, the ball falling to the ground.

“Two hands while learning, John!” Coach Cook called. I never had another error the entire season.

Now, in our ultimate game of the season, I was poised to lead my team to victory and grab a little glory in the process. 

The pitch came and the runners took off, Chuck at second and Jerry at first. And I swung; I crushed it, a line drive headed over second base, destined for center field, and beyond. 

Except that it wasn’t.

The Horace Mann shortstop raced to head off my sure hit, reaching out with his gloved hand, leaping to intercept the rocket off my bat. And then history unfolded before my very eyes as he leapt and caught the line drive for one out, fell down on second base before Chuck could get back, for the second out, and then scrambled to his feet and threw to first base, forcing the third out as Jerry could not get back safely having taken off at the crack of the bat.

I had hit into a triple play! The game, the season, my glory, was over.

I stood halfway to first base, stunned, watching the Horace Mann shortstop receive the accolades and friendly pummeling on his back from his teammates, delirious with joy, certain defeat snuffed out, victory snatched from humiliation.

I walked back to join my teammates, likewise stunned. Coach Cook was smiling and said, “It takes a pretty good hitter to hit into a triple play.”

Some consolation in that.